Violaceous Fury
by HunnybadgerV
Summary: A collection of one-shots, drabbles, and other bits and pieces for Furia, whose story starts in one (and some pieces from pre-game, mostly focusing on her). Right now I foresee her story moving through SR1 and SR2, possibly into SRTT, maybe SRIV, but the later two are in the air. Expect angst, fluff, smut, Troy, canon-typical violence and anything else that just might come up.
1. Under the Weather

**Summary:** Feeling a little under the weather, Furia was hoping to spend the cold rainy day hiding from the world and bundled up in her warmest coat. But both the weather and Dexter Jackson seem dead set on ruining her plans. After an hour spent sloshing through mud and battling bullets as well as rain, Furia finds herself up against another obstacle to her sanity and good sense—Troy Bradshaw and his chivalry.

**A/N:** This question fill was prompted by SaintsEmpressJae (*kisses*). Usual disclaimers apply.

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**Under the Weather**

_22. What are they like when they get sick? Do they have a particular system (ears, lungs, etc) that illness gravitates to?_

**-1-**

The staccato pitter-pattering of the rain rang off the concrete in the graveyard. Troy pulled his jacket collar up against the biting chill of the wind that accompanied the cold precipitation. _At least it's not fucking snowing yet_, he thought as he pulled his lighter out of his pocket and lit a cigarette. The deep cough drew his attention toward splashing footsteps. Out of habit, his hand went to the pistol in his belt until he caught a glimpse of the person hurrying into the courtyard.

The purple boots she always wore would have given Furia away to anyone, except that they looked like they were soaked through, and were now almost black from the rain.

"Hey mamacita, nice coat," Dex said with a laugh from a few steps behind Troy.

Bradshaw could understand Dex's enjoyment of the sight, she looked huge in the massive puffy black coat, the hood of which was at least as thick as her head and lined with a grayish fur. She looked like she just walked off a mountain top, except that, instead of snow, raindrops slicked off and soaked into the fabric of her coat. Her dark jeans did not really show quite how soaked through they might be, but if her boots were any indication, it was possible that she was colder than him.

"Fuck you, it's damn well freezing out here," Furia snapped. "Goddamn rain." Her sneeze just made Dex laugh anew.

Troy eyed her for a moment; she usually did not get that short with people. She looked tired-the hint of dark circles below her eyes seemed magnified by a paleness to her usually caramel complexion, but he thought that might just be due to the temperature.

"Come on," Dex ordered. "I think I have something that will help warm you up."

Her eyes met Troy's as she passed him. Her cough echoed off the stone of the foyer as she crossed into the church.

"Troy!" Dex's voice seemed to carry more clearly in the cold. "You coming?"

"Yeah!"

The church was no warmer inside than it was outside in the thick of the weather. Even the few little fires in metal drums didn't seem able to combat the combination of the wind and the icy rain. When he walked into the little alcove Dex had claimed as his base of operations, Furia still had her hands stuffed in her pockets and she seemed to be marching in place, trying to fight off the chill.

During the little briefing Dex had prepared about the strike he wanted to run on the Carnales' stronghold over on Fox Drive, Troy's attention was split between the information and the sniffling, shivering woman.

"And surprise, surprise, one of my boys says they've got some fools with rifles on the roof," Dex added to his detailed explanation after checking a text he just received.

This pulled Troy's attention away from Furia again. "They are really going all out for this place."

"Which is why we need to hit it now."

"We need Johnny," Furia said, looking at the pictures of the old plant.

"Not going to happen," Dex said. "He's running something for Julius."

"Memo's a decent shot," Troy opined, turning his attention to the young woman opposite him.

Furia glared at Bradshaw. "Memo's good, but he's not that good. I'm not even that good." Furia pulled several of the pictures toward the center of the table. "I mean look at this. From what Dex's boys are saying we're looking at a large crew outside and probably at least one, maybe more, crews inside. How many did they peg outside?"

Dex just stared at her a little bit in shock at the way she was taking over his operation, but then Troy was a little surprised as well. He had seen her planning and adjusting on the fly, but Bradshaw had never seen her do something like this. _And to do it to Dex of all people_. He watched both of them carefully. She was thinking it out, looked like she might actually be playing the whole thing out in her head. Dex just looked constipated and a little more than pissed off.

"Twenty-two on the ground, six on the roofs," Dex said coolly.

"Yeah, no way Memo can drop six men in six shots. And that is what we are going to need if we are going to get anywhere near that building without getting shot the hell up. Ideally we need Johnny and one more." She chewed at the inside of her lip as she stared at the pages. "I know I can scrounge up one guy with the bones to back someone up. But I don't know anyone else that hot on a rifle."

"Who do we have that can make the shot?" Dex asked Troy, who just shrugged in return.

Furia pulled her phone out of her coat pocket. "Hey Mikey. I need you to put hands on two rifles and someone who can make a long shot." She paced along the wall as she listened. "I need a solid shooter not someone who might be able to do it. Yeah, this is imperative. You don't know one of our boys? He's not aligned, right?" With that question she looked over at the two lieutenants.

Troy eyed Dex. To his way of thinking this was Jackson's show. If someone was brought in it would be Dex's call and Dex's recommendation. Bradshaw shrugged in response to the unspoken question floating.

"If he gets it done, we'll bring him in," Jackson said with slight note of irritation.

"Tell your cousin this is his one shot at the big time and to not fuck it up." Furia snapped her phone closed and returned to the table. "Mikey D's got a cousin that can shoot like him. Got to love country boys," she said disinterestedly. "So that handles that little problem. And I think the three of us can handle it."

"Take Troy with you. Another solid gun. And it means you'll be completely covered when you plant these," Dex explained, setting the bag on the table carefully.

Furia whistled sharply when she hooked a finger on zipper and peeked in the bag. "That's some high quality work. Who the hell did this?"

"Does it matter?" Dex replied with a sharp bite in his tone. The look in his eye suggested her question was unwelcome.

Furia seemed as surprised by Jackson's reaction to the question as Troy was. And it prompted the undercover cop to make his own inspection of the explosives. Her quick assessment was dead on. These were not the improvised explosives he would have expected the Saints to put their hands on and it made him extremely curious about Dex's sources, too.

"Guess not," the bundled-up beauty noted, her eyes scrutinizing Jackson for a moment. She zipped the bag. "Meet you out front."

The last statement was directed at Troy, whose departure was halted by Jackson's hand on his arm.

Dex leaned toward Troy as she exited. "Keep an eye on her. Julius wants to know how she handles things."

"That one can handle herself," Troy replied. He and Julius had both seen that first hand early on. She was a crack shot, almost too fearless, and she was decent at strategy.

"Yeah, well. All the same."

"Fine. Suit yourself. But if you don't trust her, why bring her in on this?"

The sharp look Dex gave him answered it. _Julius. _Troy could tell that Furia put Dex on edge. Hell, she kind of put Bradshaw on edge as well, though he was fairly certain the reasons for those similar reactions were on different ends of the spectrum.

The boss had plans for Furia, and no one knew what those plans might entail expect Julius Little. He was putting a lot of responsibility on the young woman as well, and at first it did not sit well with any of the Saints Lieutenants; at least until she proved herself. Then all of them, except Dex, had been perfectly content to work with her. Hell, Johnny sought her out. Lin preferred to have her working the Rollerz and hated having to share her. Troy could not balk at her assistance either-she was smart, capable, and determined. But for some reason Dexter Jackson did not like her.

**-2-**

"Hey Peaches! Keys!" Furia called across the room. The strawberry blond tossed a ring with a little stuffed peach dangling from it to the black-clad female.

"Try to bring it back in one piece this time."

"I paid for the damages, didn't I?" Furia replied with a smirk. "Plus, the bullet holes weren't my fault. Damn Rollerz can't shoot for shit."

The entire room fell into laughter, but it subsided when Troy walked in. She glanced over her shoulder at him. Johnny could enter a room virtually unnoticed but Bradshaw and Dex could kill a room. Furia knew why. Gat just did not seem like someone who was in charge; he was just one of the boys. The other two, and Julius, maintained a certain amount of separation.

_Which is precisely what you need to maintain_, a little voice in the back of her head scolded, as she admired the tall chestnut-haired man a little longer than she should have. With a deep breath, Furia eyed the fuzzy peach key chain in her hand before she turned her gaze back to the young woman sitting on an old beat up sofa with two other young women. "Try to stay warm."

"Just don't fuck up my new paint job. It is _so_ cherry," Peaches cooed with an ecstatic look in her eye.

"Sure thing, mujer," Furia replied then pointed toward the door behind the women. "Out front?"

When Peaches nodded, the taller woman strolled past the threesome near the entrance. Troy followed her. Furia unlocked the passenger door of the iridescent purple SUV with the pair of peaches dangling from the rearview mirror. She could not help but chuckle and shake her head. _You can always find Peaches' ride_.

"You feel up to driving?" she asked Troy as he stopped at the top of the steps, eying the clouds that were still just dousing the city with rain.

"Sure." He seemed a little surprised at the question. Of course, it was rare that Furia gave up control of anything, especially a vehicle. She tossed the keys over to him and climbed into the truck. "Where are we meeting your boys?" he asked when he climbed into the driver's seat.

"Harrowgate, corner of tenth and Park."

Furia could feel the headache coming on and the stiffness in her neck was not helping it at all. She just hoped that spending the day in this rain would not make the ick worse. It felt like a cold, but she could never really be sure. She just hoped that whatever it was would be quick and not linger.

She pushed her hood back, running her hand through her damp hair with the realization that her coat had soaked up at least as much water as it had sloughed off. She quickly plaited her hair into a loose braid. She was going to need it out of her face for this. A part of her also wished she had worn a coat that was less bulky and not quite so absorbent. There was no way she would be wearing that damn thing on this little excursion, which meant she was just bound to get colder and wetter. She had not expected Dex's call when she left that morning, when she felt the cold coming on she had been hoping just to be able to hide out for the day. But that was never how things seemed to work out for her.

"You know I think this is a first for me?" Troy said after several minutes of silence.

"What's that?" Furia replied.

"Not sure I've ever driven a vehicle with balls bigger than mine." His eyes flitted to the ornaments dangling from the mirror.

The rather large fuzzy flesh-colored peaches dangling from the mirror really did look like a set of over-sized testicles, and she could not help but laugh to find that she was not the only person with that particular take. Sadly, the laughter pushed her into a coughing fit that doubled her over in the passenger seat.

Troy's hand on her back made her stiffen. "You feeling all right?" The genuine concern in his voice made the tension all the more palpable.

She caught her breath and he removed his hand as she sat up. "I've been better. But I'm good. I keep telling Peaches that, but she just thinks I have a dirty mind."

He looked at her in that way she liked a little too much. With just a touch of smolder in his sharp eyes and one eyebrow cocked just so. Such a simple gesture should not distract her so much.

Thankfully his eyes returned to the road and she relaxed back against her seat again, feeling more than a just foolish. As they neared the intersection she had directed him to, she leaned up once again, scanning cars on both sides of the street. The little black coupe at the end of the block was still running. The heat from the exhaust billowed like smoke from the back of the vehicle.

She leaned toward the driver's side, pointing out the car. "Pull in front of that car up there. That's Mikey's."

With a glance Furia realized how easily she had taken too much liberty. Her hand was on his shoulder and she was practically on the center console as she leaned too close to him. While she might have done exactly the same thing with anyone else, with Troy simple things took on a very different charge. Thankfully she was able to distract herself from him and her obstinate attraction to him when Mikey D and his cousin Mike Holland climbed into the vehicle.

**-3-**

Before they had arrived at the plant on Fox Drive, Furia's coat had been pretty much soaked through and after their extended stint in the rain trying to get through the Carnales guards then even longer setting the last explosives on the roof, not even her socks were dry. She felt like she had taken a cold shower in the freezer. Though she had left the coat in the vehicle it had only gotten colder and it was little reprieve from the violent chills, and the truck's heater seemed to be blowing cold air from outside rather than warm air. Or at least that was how it felt to her as she shivered almost uncontrollably in the passenger seat.

The country boys had borrowed a little red coupe in order to help draw off anyone interested in what happened there. And as Troy pointed the SUV northward, she fished her cell phone out of her pocket. To be honest she was surprised it still worked.

Dex answered on the first ring. "It's done?"

"In flames. We took out their guards and the reinforcements they sent." She turned in the seat and looked behind them. "And it looks like we got away clean. Not sure about the Mikes though, they split off. "

"Good call. And good work. How'd the guy do?"

"Four guys, four shots. Worked a door with me. Solid under fire. Crack shot. We could use another shooter. So I'd give him the nod."

"I'll consider it. You should get in out of the rain. I can hear your teeth chattering from here," Dex stated with a laugh.

"¡Chingate!" she said evenly then hung up the phone.

Dropping the phone in the console, her hand went to her forehead as she muttered, "¿Por qué está tan perra?" She knew Troy had no idea what she had said and she really did not want him to. Furia was not certain how close any of the people in positions of power in the gang were with one another, but she was not about to start insulting Dex in front of any of them, at least not if they could understand what she was saying.

"That good?"

She glanced over at him from under her hand. "He's just being his usual charming self."

"He really rubs you the wrong way, doesn't he?"

"Most people rub me the wrong way."

"I don't know you get along well enough with most of the crew and Johnny and Lin," Troy noted.

She dropped her hand and tensed her body against the shivering again. "Because they give me a job and trust me to get it done. Dex micromanages everything and will stand over you every step of the way if he can. In fact I'm surprised he sent you on this little outing."

"Probably figured after your greeting at the church that the wrong word might get him shot."

Furia laughed lightly, her teeth chattering again. "Just might have." It was then that she realized they were not headed toward the church. "How hard did that guy hit you?" she asked, referring to a guy that had caught Troy off guard and cracked him in the ribs with a bat. "You forget how to get back to the church?"

"Not going to the church," he replied as he pulled into a parking lot.

"Come on, man," she griped and her voice shook with another shiver. "I'm fucking freezing here."

Troy threw the truck into park and leaned on the wheel, looking at her. "I'm well aware. Come on."

"¡Hijo de puta!" she grumbled as she pushed the door open.

"Careful. That one I do know," he said with a big smile.

"That a challenge for me to find one you don't?"

Troy laughed. "I don't think it would be a challenge worthy of you," he chided. "Just trust me. Come on." She followed him into the building and to the elevator. After he opened the door of the apartment, he pushed her through the door. "Shower's in the bedroom. I'm sure I can find you something dry that will work short term."

Furia stopped dead as the door closed behind her. "This is your place?" It was the only thing that came to her mind which seemed dulled by the cold and situation.

"Yeah, figured the fact I had a key might give it away, he said as he pulled his own soaked jacket off. It was followed by the long sleeve rugby shirt that was equally as drenched. "Of the choices, it was the closest. The church would have been ten more minutes. Your place about, what, twenty beyond that?"

Her eyes were glued to the way his wet white t-shirt clung to him, accentuating the shape and tone in the muscles of his upper body. Troy Bradshaw was not a big man, but he seemed to take care of himself. Her preoccupation was just another blatant reminder of the million and three reasons she should not be standing where she was at that very moment. His argument was logical but another thirty minutes of shivering seemed preferable to being in Troy Bradshaw's apartment, in his clothes. The implications made her head spin, but the fact that the idea intrigued the hell out of her just made her head pound even harder.

When he grabbed her by the coat and dragged the zipper down, Furia looked up at his face, then diverted her eyes. Finding staring at his chest just as distracting, she closed her eyes and shook her head. Once he tugged her coat off her, she seemed to regain some of her senses and took a step back.

"You're soaked to the damn bone," Troy argued, his eyes locked on hers. He reached out and grabbed her by the waistband pulling her back toward him. Her hands gripped his upper arms loosely. "You're going to end up with pneumonia or some shit."

The continued lack of response on her part seemed to frustrate him. "You can go on your own or I'll drag you in there myself," he threatened. The concern was clear in his tone and in his eyes. The innocent reasoning that seemed to fuel his threat made it even harder to ignore.

Furia was more than surprised by his concern and just how adamant he was that she just take the assistance offered and suck up what he had to think was stubbornness or pride. He would have no way to know that the reason she was still rooted to that spot was because there was a very willful part of herself she was trying to rope back into submission.

Her logical mind knew he was right, she had been cold and wet for far too long, and needed to get warm. But it was that same part that knew just how easy it would be for her to sprint, jump, or tumble way past the line of good sense with little more some borrowed clothes between them.

His patience reached its maximum, she realized, when he thumbed the button on her jeans loose. Then the zipper of her jeans fell, she shivered when the backs of his fingertips grazed her bare stomach. As her mind recovered, Furia was fully aware that shiver had absolutely nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with him.

"Fine," she acquiesced as her eyes searched his for a moment. "Fine." Furia let go of his arms and took a step back from him.

She muttered to herself in Spanish as she finally crossed the room. This little excursus and her reactions to Troy in this confined space clarified for her the fact that she really needed to find some way to place more palpable distance between the two of them. But she also could not deny the fact that there was a part of her that would have been very happy to have him toss her over his shoulder and carry her into his bedroom to bring her body temperature back up.

**-4-**

Bradshaw swallowed hard as he watched her disappear into the bedroom. He leaned against the wall and ran a hand through his damp hair relieved by the increase in distance between them. He could not decide what it was about her. He had seen beautiful women before and still managed to keep his wits about him. But something about Furia made him want to forego the rational.

_Like bringing her home?_ He truly had chosen this stop with innocent intentions. At least they were innocent until she looked at him with that softness that made his heart pound against his ribcage.

The echoing thud repeated as he tapped his head against the wall again. "What the hell were you thinking?" he mumbled, looking at the ceiling. _Threatening to drag her back there. Then…_ "Fuck. Not smart, Troy. In fact about as stupid a choice as you could possibly make."

Julius had some sort of vested interest in Furia and her brother. He had known their father's family, and apparently that was why Jules had been so quick to induct both of them. _Yeah, even ignoring every other reason to stay away from that woman. Messing with the boss' special interest could go incredibly wrong._

Though he tried to ignore that part of his mind, there was a section that did not give a fuck about all the reasons not to. Furia intrigued him, enticed him. He found himself almost hypersensitive to her, her presence, her moods; it was like he could read her so easily one moment and then the next she was incomprehensible, and Troy was just too tempted to try and unravel the enigma. There was something about her, something all her own that made her irresistible.

The conflict in his head continued after the water started. He crossed the small apartment and opened the bedroom door carefully. Once satisfied the bathroom door was closed, and that she was beyond it, he quickly grabbed a pair of sweatpants, a hoodie, and a pair of socks, all of which he left on the bed. A basket near the closet had clean clothes he had not had the chance to put away yet, and he grabbed a towel and a change of clothes for himself.

He lightly tapped on the door. "There's dry clothes on the bed for you, and there should be towels in the closet in there."

"Thanks," she said.

He burned through three cigarettes while she was in his shower, but the coffee pot still had not finished its cycle. Elbows leaning on his knees, he stared at the dizzy pattern of the brown and cream shag carpeting left over from the seventies; when he took the last drag he sat up and tamped it out in the ashtray near him. The bedroom door opened and his eyes darted to the woman wearing a shockingly sheepish expression.

Troy had figured sweats would be the best bet, though he knew there was likely nothing in his apartment that would even come close to fitting her. The paleness was gone; Furia seemed to have a little more color. Her long black wavy hair was still damp and just a touch wild, paired with the sweet look on her face-it was too damned desirable.

"Sorry. I was kind of a bitch," she said in a voice what was quiet and sincerely apologetic.

Rubbing his palms down his thighs, Troy stood. "Don't worry about it. Coffee?"

"Sure."

Not expecting her to follow him into the little kitchen, he stopped and turned to find himself face-to-face with those hypnotic eyes blinking up at him brimming with warmth. _Jesus Christ. _He took a step back. "How do you take it?"

"Cream," Furia said slowly and quietly, "and sugar."

Troy could feel the tension in his jaw.

"Do you have any Tylenol or something like that?"

"Medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Should be on the top shelf."

She nodded and retreated, much to his relief.

"Three sugars?" he called, leaning against the counter trying to regain his composure.

"Yeah. That should be fine."

He set the mugs on the table as she returned to the room. The wet clothes dropped onto the coat, which lay where it fell when he had tugged it off her. When she turned back toward him he thought he could see the conflict in her eyes, as she were having the same type of argument with herself that he was having. Though he did not presume to think his interest was anything more than completely one-sided on his part.

"I should probably…" Furia said uncertainly, thumbing at the door.

"Yeah." Troy stood, but walked into the bedroom and came back out with a proper coat for rain. He shook the long black trench once and held it for her to slip her arms into.

When he reached around her waist to grab the belt, she tensed and he froze. As he looked down at her, his heartbeat was so loud in his own ears he was all but certain she could hear it too. After an excruciatingly long moment he pulled away slightly and tucked the coat around her, tying the belt snugly.

"Keys?" he said patting his hips then he looked over his shoulder. "Ah, ha."

"I'll get these back to you," she promised as she tied up her clothes into a little bundle with her soaked coat before slipping her feet into her boots.

"Don't worry about it," he said with a shrug as he dangled the peach at her.

Furia took a step toward him and her intense gaze met his. If he did not know better, he would have thought she was trying to tempt him, although if he were honest with himself, she did not have to try to do that very thing. Her hand closed around the fuzzy fruit and Bradshaw released the metal ring. The rush of cold air from the hallway hit him in the face as she walked out of his apartment. Troy pressed his hands then his forehead against the door, as regret strangled him.


	2. Abuelita Maria

**Summary: **A piece prompted from a character meme.

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**Abuelita Maria**

_4a. Who did they look up to most as a child?_

The screen door banged against the doorframe and the young woman, who was the cause for the sound echoing through the house, froze and cringed. That was one of the little rules that kept some of the peace in the house. She had just started to relax and think the infraction would go unnoticed when the commanding voice carried from the back of the house.

"Soledad Amaranta Guerrero!"

"Lo siento, Abuelita," she replied as she approached the kitchen, from which emanated the striking yet contrary scents. There was a spiciness in the air that she knew all too well-pozole-but the slight hint of sweetness drew her eyes to the table. The smile that drew across her lips was large and a little greedy.

Furia knew she was the first one home, because if any of her siblings had gotten there first, they would have been sitting at that table, partaking of whatever treat their grandmother had prepared. Monday afternoons were all the same-her abuela always made them something special since it was the first day back. It was a little encouragement to make the week go by a little easier.

"How was your day mija?" Maria Guerrero asked, turning and opening her arms. It was an invitation the girl never turned down. As always, she hugged her mother's mother tightly and breathed in the faint scent of her perfume.

Her grandmother put it on every morning so that it was the first thing Furia's abuelo smelled when he woke up. Every year for Christmas he saved up and bought her a bottle of Shalimar, it had been what she had worn on their first date; and he swore that everything about her, including that scent had enchanted him. Yayo always said that by being reminded of that moment he fell in love with her every morning was the reason why he never needed to stray.

It was a tale often told, but still made Furia believe in magical things and in the idea that some people did not leave. Maybe that was part of the reason she always hugged her grandmother so tightly. By the age of thirteen, she had lost so much that she knew to hold on to what she had left with both hands and all the strength in her thin arms.

Maria just rocked her slightly and smoothed her unruly waves of jet black hair. "You have your mother's hair," the older woman noted picking up her granddaughter's chin. "Hers was wild when she was young as well. But it will be beautiful like hers. You are the spitting image of your mama in every way, mija."

Blinking up at her abuela, Furia felt a little twinge of sadness. "I miss her, Abuelita."

A warm kiss on her forehead made the feeling subside a little, though not dissipate completely-it was always there. Then Maria took the little cross that hung around the girl's neck in her fingers. She bent and kissed it, then held it for the girl to do the same. "I know. I miss her too. But she's with you, Flaca."

Furia saw the sadness she felt mirrored in her Grandmother's eyes as Maria stroked the girl's cheek. Her grandmother pointed her toward the table and whispered that she had made the girl's favorite treat. Furia was distracted enough not to see the matriarch of the family swipe away the tears with a lace handkerchief she kept in her pocket.

The door slammed just as Furia reached across the table and lifted the white towel away from the still warm empanadas stacked perfectly on the plate there were eight little fried fruit-filled treats brimming with fresh apples, cinnamon, and just a hint of chile, it was her grandmother's secret. As the stampede of feet rushed toward the kitchen, she recovered the plate and pulled six glasses out of the cabinet and laid them all on the counter before filling them all halfway with milk.

As backpacks were set in the dining room and shoes left beneath the coat rack by the door, Furia set a cup at each chair at the table along with a napkin because her brothers always forgot to grab one. Six siblings-five boys and a girl-all made a beeline for _their_ seats, each reaching for the plate in the center of the table and setting their prize on the napkin placed near their glass. Gabriel was the youngest, so Furia handed him his empanada before grabbing her own and crossing the kitchen to lean against the counter near her grandmother.

Maria patted Furia's cheek and kissed her on the top of the head. The teenager just looked up at her with a shy little grin as she picked at the corner of her empanada, watching her siblings, more correctly, watching over them.

When Enrique elbowed his twin brother Emilio in the side of the head, it was the oldest, Furia, that stepped in and soothed the wound and patched the little argument that spawned it. It was the big sister that ushered the rest of them into the dining room to start on homework. She had seen her grandmother do it for the past four years, and her mother Angela for years before that. Furia knew the rituals well enough and perhaps somewhere deep down she knew eventually they would fall upon her alone.

Her grandmother was not well, even though neither she nor Yayo spoke of it too loudly or within earshot of any of the grandchildren, Furia sensed the strain. And the girl knew how to put herself in the right places at the right times to hear the things not meant for her ears. It was a blessing and a curse.

A firm gentle squeeze wrapped around her shoulders. "How goes it, warden?" her grandfather laughed, eying the table full of his youngest child's grandchildren.

Furia shrugged. He leaned closer and whispered in her ear, "And is your homework done yet?"

"No, sir."

"You should join them. I have a treat planned and I don't want you to be up all night again trying to get that algebra done."

Her grin formed with his. When he glanced past her, she murmured quietly, "She seems tired."

There was familiar tension in her grandfather's mouth. "I know. I know, mija." He kissed her head and pressed her toward the table before heading to the kitchen. She watched her grandfather wrap his arms around her Abuelita's waist and nuzzle the love of his life.

The girl both envied and admired her grandmother. She took care of her daughter Angela as she fought a losing battle against Leukemia then she took in the seven grandchildren of her youngest child and managed to keep them under control despite the grief and the acting out. Furia and her siblings never wanted for love and guidance while their grandmother was alive. And Furia was proud to carry her grandmother's name, though no one knew it.


	3. Mi Dulce Niña

**Summary:**Confirmation is a rite of passage for the Guerrero family. Furia's came early so that her mother could at least one of her children reach that milestone, where she received her most cherished possession. Twelve years later at another confirmation Furia passes on her mother's cross to her sister Socorro, who Furia has a very strained relationship with since the loss of their grandparents.

**A/N:**Fill to answer two questions from a character development meme: _12. Do they sing or play any musical instruments, even if just for fun? How well?28. What is a gift that they have received that was especially touching or significant? _Requested by extraordinarygirlordinaryworld. Thanks to Chy and Jae for their input.

_Disclaimer_: Saint's Row belongs to THQ, Volition, and Deep Silver. I'm only playing with their universe. I do not own the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. I do it for the love of the game, the world, and the characters; and because they stuck with me long after I turned the game off (and back on, and off, ad infinitum).

* * *

**Mi Dulce Niña**

_12. Do they sing or play any musical instruments, even if just for fun? How well?_

_28. What is a gift that they have received that was especially touching or significant?_

**-1-**

The teacup shivered loudly against the cup plate, and the girl put her hand on the handle to quiet the sound. She set the cup on the bedside table then walked around to the other side of the bed and climbed up beside her mother. It was their Saturday morning ritual. The other children were down stairs watching cartoons, but Furia preferred to be upstairs. She was the oldest and better understood what was happening.

Angela smiled at her and held the blanket up to let her daughter climb under with her. Snuggling down together, she put her arm around her first born. "So tomorrow's the big day," she said quietly toying with the end of the single braid in the girls hair.

Furia nodded silently before looking up. "Mama, are you going to be there?"

Her mother smiled, and it made Furia smile. "Ah, mi dulce niña. I'm going to try, but, Soledad, it will depend on whether it is a good day."

"I hope it is a good day" Furia looked back at her hands, she was nervously picking at her nails. When she laid her head against her mother's bony shoulder, she offered up a little prayer that her mother would feel well the next day and be able to be at her confirmation.

Angela laid her hand over Furia's. "Don't do that, mija. You have such pretty hands."

"Like yours?"

Her mother laughed a little, but there was a strain in it that made Furia a little sad. Mama was not feeling well, the girl could tell, she could just feel it. The fear that her mother would not be at the church the next day grew with the realization that today was not a good day, they usually came in streaks.

"Yes, like mine, and Abuelita's," Angela said, planting a kiss on Furia's head.

She rested her cheek there, and the light humming started. Furia tried not to smile. It was a song she was intimately familiar with. Her mother had sung it to her all her life, and when the humming turned to singing, Furia joined her mother. _A la Nanita Nana_ was a song all the Guerrero children knew and knew well. Their mother, grandmother, and older sister sang it to them often, though of the three Furia felt her voice was the weakest.

The girl saw herself as a dancer, not a singer, though she could carry a tune, but dancing was the thing she was most passionate about. The song didn't end until her mother's voice trailed off. Even then, Furia continued singing, holding onto her mother's hand and comparing her own to it.

**-2-**

Ten years old was a little on the young side for confirmation Furia learned in hindsight, but her grandmother had made a special request to Father Nicholas. It was not until her younger brother's confirmation about seven years after her own that Furia realized that her confirmation had been made early so that her mother could see one of her children reach that milestone before she died. The most surprising thing had been that Angela actually made it to the church that day. She was pale, and Furia could tell she was in a great deal of pain, but her mother was there despite it all.

Her confirmation had been a special one all around. Furia was the last to be confirmed in the family church on Third Street. And hers had been the only one that her mother and maternal grandparents had been around for. Memo, who was three years younger than her was confirmed a month after their grandfather passed unexpectedly; Yayo had followed Abuelita Maria. Two weeks after her funeral they were planning another; and the family always said it was because he loved her so much that he just had to be with her.

The hand on the small of her back drew Furia out of her reverie. "Did you forget how all this works?" Memo asked, turning his head and kissing her on the cheek. He dipped his fingertips in the water and crossed himself

"Muy guapo, Memito," she replied after giving him a quick once over.

Her brother gripped the lapel of his suit coat. The black pinstripes looked good on him. He was tall and broad shouldered and the suit was well-tailored, she guessed Johnny or maybe even Julius offered him a suggestion on who to see. The purple shirt and shiny lavender tie were a bit much but she couldn't really say anything there.

"You know I hate it when you call me that."

"That's precisely why I do it," she chided with a wide grin.

Memo rolled his eyes at his older sister and shook his head. "You clean up pretty good yourself, Tati." He smiled a little wider when she cringed slightly. All of her younger siblings had called her that at one point or another, but few used it any longer.

"And no, I have not forgotten. Just … thinking," she said when she repeated the same action her brother had.

Furia wasn't sure what the rest of the day might entail for her. She had been told to stay close to her phone, so she opted for a gray pant suit. Her brother straightened his coat and set his hand on her back. The two of them were spotted before the saw their family.

"Leda!" Furia stopped, only her brothers called her that. And it had been Gabriel that started calling her that a few years earlier because he thought Soledad was too serious a name. So he just took to calling her Leda, and so did the others, all except for Socorro.

Gabriel almost knocked down a younger boy as he dashed up the aisle. He was fourteen and almost taller than his sister, who was eight years his senior, though he was significantly dwarfed in Memo's six-foot-four-inch shadow. Gabriel hugged her tightly, squeezing as hard as he could. Furia embraced him, just as tightly, and she never let go first-it had been something her grandmother told her: always be the last to let go.

When he loosened his grip and looked her straight in the eye she held his face for a moment. "You have Mama's eyes, mijito."

The compliment always made him smile, and blush just a little.

"¿Qué onda, hermanito?" Memo said, ruffling Gabriel's hair before pulling him into a quick hug.

The rest of the brothers joined the little makeshift reunion in the aisle-hugging their sister and shaking hands with the eldest of Angela Guerrero's sons. Gabriel tucked himself under Furia's arm as they walked toward the row that was brimming with relatives, while Enrique walked on her left. She laid her hand at the base of Enrique's neck as he proudly told her how his coach was damn near certain he could get a football scholarship.

"He said he's been making calls all over the state," the thickly muscled young man gushed.

Before any of the others filed into the pew Furia leaned toward her Tio Antonio and kissed his check. He merely gave her a quick wink and an encouraging nod. Memo shook their uncle's hand. Each of them knelt and crossed themselves before taking a seat. Somehow, the eldest child knew her sister was sitting alone in her assigned seat so that Socorro would not have to speak with Furia before the service.

Socorro was the reason they were there. It was her confirmation. But she, unlike most of the other teenagers undergoing the same rite, was already seated in the roped off pews. Socorro was as stubborn as her sister was determined.

Furia's hand unconsciously went to the cross she had worn around her neck for the last twelve years, since her own confirmation. When she was ten, Angela, their mother, had given Furia the cross that Abuelita Maria and Yayo had gotten her for her own confirmation. It had been a comfort in the years since she lost her mother. It still was a comfort. It was her most prized and cherished possession.

After pressing her lips to the cross for a long moment, she quickly unclasped the chain from her neck. She stood. When Gabriel moved to follow her, Memo clapped a thick hand on the scrawny boy's shoulder and pushed him back down into the pew. The older brother had seen what she did and he knew the significance of it. This was not a moment for Gabriel's giddiness.

Ignoring the ribbon barrier, Furia walked down the row behind where her sister sat with little ear buds in her ears. She considered tugging the headphones out of Socorro's ears. She might not be the best Catholic out there, or really even practice beyond the times she showed up for rites and holidays, but it still felt disrespectful. _Almost as disrespectful as carrying a gun into the house of God?_ a voice in her head asked.

With a shake of her head, she grabbed the ends of the chain and lowered it in front of her sister. Socorro straightened a little and her body tensed. Her head turned slowly and the little white plastic speakers were removed carefully and untangled from the chain as Furia secured it around Socorro's neck. When dark brown eyes met Furia's lighter hazel ones, the older sister smiled.

"Is this Mama's?"

"Por supuesto. She would have wanted you to have it. You look beautiful. And I … we're all proud of you," Furia said, leaning on the back of the pew. She would have preferred to kiss her sister's forehead or do anything other than lean there that would have shown the young woman how much she cared. But Furia respected the distance her sister had placed between them and gripped the wooden pew tightly.

Socorro just stared at her. So after a few moments Furia straightened and walked back down the aisle. Her heart ached for her sister. Socorro was still so angry. It was an emotion Furia could sympathize with. The only difference was that the eldest child did not have the luxury to be pissed off and there was really no one left for her to be pissed at. The only people she could have been mad at were already gone. She was almost back to her seat when she heard the heels scuff the stone floor.

With tears streaming down her face and one hand clasped tightly around that family cross, Socorro stumbled and fell into the arms of her sister who sank to the floor with her. It was the first time in years, that Furia had cried, but when Socorro snaked her arm around her tightly Furia was powerless to stop the tears. She held her sister like her mother and grandmother held her when she was upset as a girl-kissing and stroking her hair, rocking her slightly, but always holding onto her tightly, tight enough that Socorro would know that there was one person in the world that would always be there to catch her.

Her voice cracked on the first line, but Furia did not care how it sounded, she just sang the lullaby softly. Her sister's beautiful voice joined hers. _A la Nanita Nana_ was a song all the Guerrero children knew and knew well. Their mother, grandmother, and older sister sang it to them often. Furia's voice was passable, but Socorro's sounded just like their mother's.

"I … I …" Socorro tried to find words.

Furia held the young woman's face in both her hands as she shook her head. "Shh. Mijita, te amo." She kissed Socorro's forehead and the girl sobbed at the gesture. "Look at me I'm becoming Abuelita," Furia said lightly as she pulled a lace-trimmed handkerchief out of the breast pocket of her jacket, which she used to dry her sister's face.

She smiled, trying for lightness. "It's a good thing you didn't wear makeup," the eldest confided, knowing that she probably looked like a hooker caught in the rain.

"Sí," Socorro said with a sheepish, almost guilty look on her face. "Lo lamento mucho, Soledad."

"All is forgiven, mi dulce niña." The endearment made Socorro hug her again, it was what their mother and grandmother called them both. "And it's like I always tell you and the boys, no matter what, I will always be here for you. I love you, all of you."

Socorro kissed her sister quickly. The two stood and hugged again. "I really am proud of you," Furia repeated.

"Te amo."

Memo held out a handkerchief and a little hand mirror to her as Furia retook her seat. She knew the mirror, it belonged to Antonio's wife Maribel.

"You're going to look like you've been in a fight for the rest of the day," he chided as he squeezed her hand.

"And I'm fine with that, Memito."

He shook his head at her. Gabriel leaned his head against her shoulder as she attempted to try to swipe away as much of the damage as possible.


	4. Raindrops

**Summary:** From a character meme. Not sure this fits quite right. It's not really happy or sad. But there is whether she enjoys and dislikes… The rain though does make her happy, but I'm not sure lightning quite makes her sad, it does make her feel and seem vulnerable.

* * *

**Raindrops**

_5. What kind of weather makes them happy, and what kind makes them sad?_

Troy inhaled quickly with a start. The soft sound of rain on the metal roof was new. He could not be sure if that was what woke him, but maybe it had been thunder, though if there had been thunder the rumble was gone already. Uncertain what had caused him to wake so suddenly, he stretched his arm out and found himself alone in the bed and he sat up quickly in response, eyes searching the darkness. The first thing he did was grab his pistol, then he slipped on his boxers and crept through the dark little cabin he had rented for two days. It was the middle of the week, so there was little expectation of anything for either of them as far as "business" was concerned. It had been the safest time for him to surprise Furia with a little escape. They were still within twenty minutes of Stilwater, so if a call came, either or both of them could get back; more than likely both, since they had only taken the one car.

He whispered her name a few times as he moved toward the front door and peeked out. Whatever had startled him seemed to have been concocted in his own head. Turning, he lowered the pistol and flipped the safety back on. Then he noticed the likely culprit. He smiled as he crossed the dark room; Furia was on the little deck standing in the soft rain that was pattering across the roof. His throat tightened when he watched the creamy-colored satin fall over her shoulders as she raised her face to the rain. He was equally pleased and disappointed that she had not dropped the robe entirely.

Leaving the gun on the end table, he slid the door open and stepped out under the covered portion of the porch, but the sweeping sound announced his presence and she glanced back at him.

"I didn't mean to wake you," she said with sincerity in her voice.

"Not sure if it was you or the rain," he replied, though a part of him was nearly certain it had been the sound of the door closing that startled him. "What are you doing?"

"I love this kind of rain."

Troy chuckled and watched her close her eyes and turn her face back toward the moon. "And what kind of rain is that precisely?"

"Warm. And an enticing mix of lazy fat drops interspersed with those sweet barely stinging ones."

Furia clasped her robe together with one hand, just above her breasts, though the sopping light-colored fabric left little to the imagination, especially his imagination which was well versed in the look and feel of her body. She looked at him again and crooked a come-hither finger at him while wearing a look that was all spicy heat. It was a look he craved.

"You never played in the rain as a kid?" she asked, waiting for him to respond to her invitation.

"Sure, I guess." He shrugged one shoulder but stayed under the relative protection of the porch.

Furia looked up at the sky. "There's no lightning yet. Just a nice spring rain."

There was something enticing about the idea, and since she did not seem ready to come in out of the rain yet, he opted to go to her. With his first step her smile encouraged him. She pulled his arms around her and leaned her head back against him. Troy nuzzled her neck, enjoying the fact that she had her hair piled on the top of her head, tied up in some purple hair thingy. Her hand slid into his hair with a warm hum as he kissed and licked her neck.

"So why are you out here in the rain?" he whispered against the shell of her ear before drawing the tip of his tongue across the curve.

She shrugged, turning toward him and looking at him. "Doesn't everyone want to dance naked in the rain at some point in their lives?"

He chuckled as her lips met his, but there was something in her eyes that told him she was completely serious. It was reinforced by her facing him and letting the untied robe fall to the drenched deck with a sopping sound and a little splash that hit his ankles. Her hands slid around his waist as she asked, "Would you care to join me?"

As if by instinct or momentary possession by some other force, Troy nodded his head. Her hands skimmed the damp cotton down his body then he pulled her close again, kissing her feverishly .

"There is no way that out here, alone, you are going to get out of dancing with me," she warned with a playful giggle.

"I told you-" he tried to argue again that he could not dance, well, he could but he preferred not to.

"I don't believe you," she countered. "Plus given the right inspiration I'm sure your hips can follow mine." Furia took his hands and set them on her bare hips, placing her hands on his shoulders.

Though he normally wouldn't have much appreciation for dancing so far apart, there was a certain enjoyment to be had as he watched the raindrops slick over her body in the low light from the porch. She glistened, and her enjoyment of the rain on her bare skin was evident in the gooseflesh that seemed to move over her body with the stimulation.

The path was curving and almost torturous. Troy watched a drop slide over her collarbone, trailing over her chest, and not caring if he actually caught it, though somehow he knew that's precisely what he was trying to do, he ran his tongue across her breast. With her heady sigh, the intention shifted from catching droplets to securing another sound like that. A few kisses brought his mouth to his prize and his tongue teased at her taut nipple until the hum rumbled in his ear. Scrapping his teeth lightly across it brought a groan he covetously enjoyed inspiring.

Greedy hands slid over his shoulders and directed his mouth to hers. Troy's arms circled around her waist and held her body tight against his. The tiny steps of the movement that was barely a dance were forgotten in the momentum of the moment. Having her all to himself intoxicated him; he intended to savor the rare chance to its fullest.

The rumble went almost wholly unnoticed as they kissed, but the sharp crack and the almost too bright fork of lightning made Furia yelp. Her nails dug into his neck for a moment, and he felt the tension wrack her body. She laughed at her own reaction nervously. Troy shepherded her to the house.

"Rain's good but not lightning?" he asked as he tugged the blanket off the back of the sofa and wrapped it around her shoulders, rubbing it against her arms.

"Yeah, not so much," she admitted a little sheepishly.

"Park it," he ordered, pointing to the sofa.

Thinking better of trying to light a fire in the nude, he ducked into the bathroom and draped a towel around his waist since they had left the bags in the car. Once a fire roared in the little fireplace, he turned toward her to find a tempting invitation. When he took a hold of the corner of the blanket, she relieved him of his fire protection with a coy smirk.

They shifted this way and that trying to find a comfortable cuddle on the cheap couch, though still being a little waterlogged didn't help either. She settled against his chest, tracing little circle around an old scar. He laughed the next time lightning hit near their little hideaway; her body jerked against his and he held her a little tighter. Once over the shock she swatted him lightly.

"It's not funny," she stated, a note of warning in her voice.

"It's damn well hilarious," he countered, glancing down at her.

"You think so?"

Troy cupped her face, his thumb running over her cheek. "You're fucking fearless, until the storm rolls in."

"I just don't like lightning." There was a trace of a pout, and it just made her all the more endearing.

Troy thought her reaction was cute. Furia was daring and unafraid of just about everything, shit, she was tougher and had bigger cajones than most of the guys in the gang, including Dex. But to feel that uncharacteristic shiver in her body, to have her clutch him closer every time a lick of lightning lit the sky was something new and vulnerable. He pressed his lips to her forehead and traced soothing lines up and down her spine as the storm picked up fury.


	5. Visiting Hours

**Summary: **One of Troy's Saturday visits to see Furia at the hospital. He makes elaborate strides to make sure that he can get 30 minutes with her a month-an appointment he never misses.

**A/N: **f!Boss/Troy Troy visits the Boss while she's in her coma. Bonus points if he brings flowers. Special thanks to Chyrstis and SaintsempressJae for their thoughts and eyes. *kisses*

_Disclaimer_: Saint's Row belongs to THQ, Volition, and Deep Silver. I'm only playing with their universe. I do not own the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. I do it for the love of the game, the world, and the characters; and because they stuck with me long after I turned the game off (and back on, and off, ad infinitum).

* * *

**Visiting Hours**

**-1-**

* * *

One Saturday every month, Chief of Police Troy Bradshaw managed to shake off everything that pressed down upon him: his own people, the expectation of his position, and even the distasteful part of his job. Even if it only amounted to a few hours where he felt like himself, he never missed this appointment. He made his way to a little apartment he kept off the books and in a false name. There he would strip away everything about him that said he was a cop. Within twenty minutes of arriving there he had showered and shaved. Standing at the bathroom mirror he stared at himself, trying to find _it_.

He didn't know what _it _was precisely. But whatever it was, she had seen it. And it had drawn her to him. Furia still made his head spin, and he had not heard her voice in nearly two years, though he saw her once a month. Even in a coma she still had him spellbound. He grabbed the white bottle with the red markings and splashed a bit of the liquid in his hands, rubbed them together before dousing his face and neck in the scent that began with the overpowering aromas of cinnamon and sage.

Troy wrinkled his nose, he never liked how Old Spice started, but it always faded to a pleasant cedar wood and musk scent. He smiled at the memory of how much Furia had enjoyed it. He ducked out of the bathroom and traded the towel around his waist for boxers and a well broken-in pair of faded jeans. Then he sat on the edge of the bed as he pulled on his socks. His memory was still toying with him, taunting him.

Her lyrical trilling voice still lingered fresh in his memory. He could hear the question she had asked him that night. Troy lay sprawled across the bed, sheets draped strategically, and she had been standing not ten feet from where he was sitting at that moment. In the doorway of that bathroom, nude, backlit by the light, toying with something in her hands as she stood on one foot, resting the other foot on the knee of her straight leg.

Closing his eyes for a moment he savored the memory of that sight for the umpteenth time. "Vaya, I wouldn't figure you for an Old Spice kind of guy," she had said in that musical voice of hers that made the blood rush from his head.

Troy had laughed and slipped an arm behind his head watching her, studying the lines of her body. "Never heard you complain before."

"Not complaining," she had replied, turning and setting the bottle back on the counter before she crossed the room. "Just didn't realize that's what it was."

He swallowed at the lump that filled his throat whenever she looked at him with that dark smoldering gaze that hinted at more, that suggested he was more to her than just a convenient lay. Though he knew there was nothing convenient about their relationship for either of them, given his position and her ambition. Whenever he saw those traces which suggested a depth to her feelings, it made him question his own motives.

Furia pressed her hands onto the mattress and moved slowly onto the bed. She prowled toward him, it was the only word he could ever use to describe that movement, all the while dotting kisses up his calf, his thigh. The sultry look made his heart race. Then she stopped and sat back, he could feel the warmth of her on his thigh as she straddled one of his legs.

"So why do you wear it?"

He remembered being puzzled by the question. "I don't know." He tried to chase down a reason and all he could ever come up with was that it had been the first bottle of cologne he had ever gotten-a Christmas gift when he was thirteen, from his grandfather who also wore it.

The answer had made her smile. "Maybe that's why I like it. My yayo always used that. My grandfather," she offered in explanation.

"Are you trying to tell me I remind me of your grandfather?" Troy joked, leaning up on his elbows and raising his eyebrow at her.

"No, cielito," she replied quickly, swatting him playfully before she shifted and she curled up next to him. Her fingers played in the chain around his neck. "It's just one of those things. The smell makes me feel all comfortable and safe. And on you, it's just an added bonus to all the other things." Her finger curled around the chain and she tugged lightly encouraging him to lean into her.

As his lips met hers, Troy's eyes snapped open. "Get a grip, man," he told himself as he stared at the running shoes he was part of the way through tying.

Every month it was the same. The Saturday he would visit her, he would have to start getting ready hours before the shift change, because invariably, his head would play games with him the entire time. Sometimes the memories were triggered by scent, a sound, a stain on his shirt. Anything could spiral him into the nostalgia, into the overwhelming pool of vivid memories.

_It would have probably been better if she didn't survive_, he told himself once again. _There wouldn't be the questions about why you won't just pull the plug. There wouldn't be the need for the lies about bringing Hughes' murderer to justice. _Troy knew she did not have anything to do with it. She was too good to have screwed up and blown herself up with him. Julius had set her up, to secure his deal, because Little and Bradshaw both knew that trying to convince Furia _and_ Johnny to drop their flags was a nearly futile endeavor. Regardless of her role in the explosion, Troy learned a long time ago that the truth didn't always matter.

He scraped his hands through his damp hair. _Maybe if Julius was more capable, you wouldn't be languishing in this limbo of memories of a woman who'd shoot you as well as look at you once she wakes up, once she finds out._ _Maybe then you could move the fuck on. Maybe then you might not have to think about how much she'll hate you when she finds out. You'll know._

The argument also happened every time. Furia had a very colorful opinion of cops after the crap Chief Monroe pulled on the Saints over Julius. Troy had only had the chance to talk to her for a few minutes during all that insanity, but he vividly remembered her words. "¡Pinche Policia! Kidnap Julius and turn me into some … some … puta maldita. Para nada. I never had too much against the damned cops before, but Monroe … If that's what their like? Fuck 'em. ¡Que se jodan todos!"

Troy had not needed a translation to understand the sentiment, her distaste dripped like venom in her tone. At the time a part of him wondered what she would say the next time he saw her. How would she react when she found out? He always thought of it in those terms-when she would find out, never if. At the same time he somehow never imagined telling her, though he had planned it out more than once and each time something had happened that interfered. Even still he always assumed it would just come to light. Despite plans to the contrary and cowardly as it maybe, he never thought himself strong enough to break the façade, to tell her he was not who she thought. He was not strong enough to break her heart, or maybe he was just not strong enough to break his own.

A long sigh escaped him as he stood and pulled out an undershirt which he tugged on quickly as he ducked into the closet to find a shirt.

**-2-**

* * *

Troy still wasn't sure why he did this, why he made the effort. If she had any idea he was a cop, that he had been a cop back then, Furia would probably be more pissed than Johnny. The only difference is that her shot would not miss out of sympathy for a friend. But even two years in, he still made the trip every month, still paid off the shift sergeant for the district so that he would have half an hour alone, just to see her without anyone else being the wiser.

The chief knew he needed to stop. It was like any addiction. He just had to admit that he had a problem, but it was not a problem yet in his mind. Things would not become problematic until she woke up, until she found out who he really was, until she found out he was not everything she thought. Troy avoided his reflection as he grabbed his phone, his keys, and the lighter he did not use anymore-the one she had given him. He swallowed hard as he held it between his thumb and forefinger, the engraving on the lighter matching the little black and purple design on the back of his hand between those two fingers.

A little curve turned his lips at the memory of it. They had been seeing each other on the sly for just shy of a year and no one seemed to have any idea. He was totally lost in her, and Furia had told him she loved him. It was exactly what he wanted to hear, even though everything in him knew that he should not be allowing himself to indulge in that type of relationship, that type of distraction. He wanted to believe that he was the man she saw, the man she loved. Even years later, he still had days when he wanted to be a man that deserved the trust she had placed in him, instead of the Chief of Police.

He still remembered how he wound up with the permanent reminder of his deception-the strong black capital T with a lithe purple S curving around it. They had fallen asleep on the sofa watching a movie, and it was the slight tickling sensation on his hand that finally tugged him out of whatever stupid dream might have held his subconscious. Furia had propped his hand on her chest as she sketched the little design alternating between black and purple Sharpie markers. He had not moved, he just watched. When she manipulated his hand with her left, he noticed she had tried it first on her own hand.

"What are you doing?" he whispered in her hair.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Nothing." She giggled when he tucked his nose behind her ear and kissed her lightly. "Stop or I'm going to mess it up."

"What is it?"

"Ni jota," she said with a shrug.

The body language told him what it probably meant, though he was not really sure at the time. It was yet another moment where he asked himself why the hell he had taken German in high school, though he was fairly certain that 90% of the Spanish she used he would have never learned in class.

"T-S, huh? Third Street?"

She shrugged. "Or maybe something else," she noted, closing the markers and glancing back at him again.

"Okay, I'll bite. If it _is_ something else why is there an S and not an F?"

She cocked one eyebrow at him. "You know what Furia means right?"

"I have a pretty good guess."

"And you really think someone would name their kid Fury?"

Troy shrugged. "Could be? Maybe it's a family name?"

"¡Por Dios! No," she replied with a little chuckle. She rolled over, resting her hands against his bare chest. For a few moments, she watched her fingers trace the outline of the little dip at the base of his throat silently before she turned those intriguing eyes back on his face. "Soledad. My given name is Soledad Amaranta Guerrero."

Troy just grinned, the cops did not even have that information. Her file merely held the name everyone knew-everyone, even her siblings called her Furia. The realization that she deemed him important enough to have that information knocked the breath out of him. "Soledad," he finally repeated, tucking her long black hair behind her ear tenderly. "Beautiful name. What's it mean?"

She grimaced. "Solitude."

He just nodded then whispered her name against her lips.

The kiss broke sooner than he would have liked. She looked down at him with feigned warning. "Do not ever-"

He stopped her threat with another, deeper kiss. "I promise," he laughed when he looked up at her wry face.

"Lo sé. Just wanted to make sure," Furia noted, relaxing tremendously and cuddling against him.

Troy looked at the little design on his hand. His mind was racing. The implications were mounting quickly. He cared about her tremendously, loved her even. If she trusted him to know this one thing that no one else knew-it suddenly became harder to breathe. He loved her, trusted her with his life, but not with his identity. A part of him wanted to tell her right then, just hold onto her tightly and whisper the truth in her ear, but the fear of losing her wracked him, entirely.

_Joining the Saints was not supposed to go like this_, he had thought as he looked into her hazel eyes. He was not supposed to get close to these people. His superiors expected him to get information, not make friends and fall in love with a woman who was equally as dangerous as any of the gang's lieutenants. Furia's rise in the Saints was a mix of good timing and incredible skill. She was smart and cunning, and had aligned herself well and proved herself both capable and useful from the get go.

From the police chief's point of view, she was one of the people he should be running a file on. Troy's heart was racing and not just because of the way she looked at him, or what she had told him, or the fact that he wanted her-his nerves were raw because of his own fear of the truth. The saying goes that the truth shall set you free, and that was just what he was afraid of. Running his thumb along her jaw he guided her lips to his. The kiss was gentle and teasing, and prompted her to respond just how he was hoping; she wriggled closer to him, draping her arms around his neck as the exchange deepened.

When the electronic chiming started, she sighed dramatically and laid her forehead on his chest for a few moments. Leaning past him she grabbed her phone, since she did not drop it back onto the end table and return to him Troy knew it was one of three people-Julius, Johnny, or Dex.

"¿Qué onda, Chino?" Furia greeted casually as she leaned forward rubbing her hands across her forehead. It was one of her clear signs of irritation.

Troy ran a hand up her back as he kissed her bare shoulder before he slid the thin spaghetti strap of her top back onto her shoulder. When he started to climb off the couch, she shook her head at him. He wanted to stay, but instead he shrugged and mouthed, _I have to go_, as he tapped his watch.

Her warm eyes narrowed at him as she leaned back against the sofa and scowled at him. "Sorry," he whispered in her ear as he leaned over her. "I'll make it up to you."

"Better," she pouted in a low voice, covering the phone with her hand.

He could not help but grin in reply. When he kissed her she moved the phone away, and he could hear Johnny's voice clearly, rambling about something or other that Troy probably did not want to know about. He had no issues with Gat calling her, outside of the fact that when the two of them got together bad shit happened. Though the two of them usually came through the trouble they caused without a scratch, it was just the way they played off each other.

When Troy slipped out the door, she winked at him. "Tonight," he promised and Furia nodded with a smile.

Once out of the building, he had gone to light a cigarette and cupping his hand against the wind to keep the flame from going out he studied the little symbol Furia had drawn on his hand. Suddenly he had a little epiphany, an insane epiphany. For her that symbol had nothing to do with the Saints, though it had the benefits of being able to be attributed to the gang. The design on his hand was all about them, him and her. She always told him he was her rock, and Troy had admitted to her that she had snaked her way into his thoughts, and in to his heart, though he never admitted the latter to her-he barely admitted it to himself. She was the curvy purple S wrapped around him, the solid block-lettered T.

The reaction he had was stupid. He did not know why he did it at the time, and thinking back years later he really could not think of a reason not to have done precisely what he did. He meant something to her, and he knew how she would respond to the gesture when the idea struck him. His old buddy Marco was a talented tattoo artist and owed Troy a favor. Within an hour the undercover cop was sitting at the sturdy kitchen table of his high school football buddy, as his mind wrapped around the constant buzz and sting of the needle.

"Who did the artwork?" Marco asked at one point.

Troy looked at him for a long moment. "A friend."

"Hot friend or talented friend?" It only took the hint of a smirk for his old buddy to laugh. "Yeah, totally a hot friend. What's her name?"

"So-," Troy started, then corrected, calling her by only name people knew. "Furia."

"Ay? Decided to finally branch out from vanilla, carbrón?"

"Go to hell, Marco," Troy replied sharply.

"It was the hips, wasn't it? Does she dance?"

The cop shook his head. "Yeah, she dances. Tried to teach me."

"Oh, I'd have paid to see that," Marco laughed heartily.

Troy understood why. Furia had great rhythm and when she danced he wanted nothing more than to dance with her. But Bradshaw always felt like an idiot on the dance floor. Usually whenever music became involved in any Saints gathering, he and Johnny stuck their asses to a wall, bullshitting over beers.

"You almost done?"

"Patience. Something like this deserves attention to detail. If I do it right, she might just ride you like she's being chased," Marco advised with a wide grin. "And we will then be even, carnal."

"Yeah. Yeah."

Bradshaw shook his head once, pulling himself out of the memory as he dropped the lighter into the pocket of his jeans. He trotted down the stairs of his old apartment. On the table by the door sat the bouquet he always tried to bring, though during the colder months it was harder and harder to find Gerbera Daisies. But in summer he was always able to get bouquets of bright vibrant colors, like huge bursts of colored petals. Those were the ones she really liked-big, vibrant, beautiful, he thought. _Just like her-like she had been_.

Pinching at one of the petals he ran his fingers over it. The membranous flesh was smooth and soft. Resignedly he checked his watch and grabbed the flowers.

**-3-**

* * *

Peeking through the panel in the door he watched the guard in the hall stretch then fidget to answer the ringing phone. The man tried to argue that his relief was not there yet, but Troy knew the sergeant was being adamant about him getting out of the hall so that the Chief could enter the room unnoticed. He leaned back against the wall as the officer moved toward the elevators.

_What are you doing?_ He asked himself for at least the 48th time since he had started these little excursions. The realization made him laugh. He knew as much as he argued with himself he would keep coming to see her until she sat up and told him to fuck off. And there was a part of him that would be fine with that-that part of him just wanted to know she was all right. Just as that part would be sated, he was equally aware that there was a part of him that would be devastated when that day came. When the little fantasy, spurred on by memory, would be broken and his heart shattered along with it.

A deep breath stilled his nerves and he grabbed the handle, arguing with himself for a moment before yanking the door open. The movement from the stairwell to her room was quick and as silent as he could manage. He set the flowers down quickly and turned to the door slowly closing behind him, manipulating the rest of its path to keep from drawing anyone's attention.

It played out like it always did. He pressed his back against the door, lingering for a moment, even convincingly lying to himself that it was to make sure no one heard his dash into the room. Then once his resolve had resolidified, he carried the flowers across the room and set them on the table near the windowsill-some place she might see them when she woke up.

Troy always thought of it in those terms-when, never if-though he had heard all the theories. The reports from the doctors that crossed his desk along with this or that alderman's request to remove her from life support.

It always took too long to finally approach the bed, even longer to bring himself to touch her. But he always found himself lowering the rail on one side to sit beside her-to be close to her-holding her hand gently, always aware of the restraints on her wrists.

The first time Bradshaw visited her, it had been traumatic for him. She was burned, bruised, and bandaged up. There had seemed to be so many machines then. Adding the restraints to everything else had just floored him. That sight had triggered his rage, and it was all he could do not to grab some doctor and beat him to a pulp. Instead he slinked out of her room and started researching, which relieved some of his ire though little of his worry.

A matter of months later when his promotion came through, Troy was able to get detailed information on the care she was receiving at the County Hospital's Prison Ward. With every visit, a part of him was thankful she was some place less secure medical ward than the one at the Stilwater Penitentiary, which was more secure to be sure, but was not equipped to handle patients in her condition. Something about the need for near constant medical attention had been the reason the warden's report gave.

If she were there, his visits would not go unnoticed, nor would they go unreported. He had no valid reason to visit this prisoner, at least professionally. Only his partner, who Johnny had managed to kill on his way to get to Troy, had known about the cop's connection to Furia; he had been Troy's handler. And Johnny knew, but he had figured it out before the explosion, or Furia had told him. Troy was never sure precisely how Gat found out.

"Johnny's doing okay. Got a report just this week, he's being as model a prisoner as Johnny Gat can be. Most of his fights wind up being some new fish talking trash about the Saints, or you." Troy stroked the back of her hand with his, watching the slow deliberate movement. "His trial is almost finished," he said with a note of regret as he shook his head. "The judge will likely hand down the prosecutor's recommendation. I couldn't talk them into going for life. The DA wants to make a point."

"Your cousin Miguel got picked up again last week. One of the boys from Property Crimes went to ask him about a suspected new ring." Troy shook his head and admitted," The officer said several things he shouldn't. And Miguel caught him offguard, beat him with a tire iron. Broke his arm and cut up his face. The idiot got lucky," he said with a laugh.

"Jen got him out on bail, but he might end up back inside for this one, even though the officer went too far. IA busted him back down to the beat, so he's on a desk until he heals. Lee's going to put one of his good guys on Miguel's case see if he can't get a lighter sentence or get it all laughed out of court since the cop admitted to instigating it."

Troy sighed heavily and looked at her face, even though it pained him. The tape disturbed him, but he was certain not seeing the light and vibrancy that he remembered being in her eyes might be worse.

"God I miss you," he breathed, his chest feeling heavy as he touched her cheek. He closed his eyes, holding his breath when her head moved slightly. It happened on occasion and it always stung him. _It is just a spontaneous reflex, _he reminded himself, though every part of him screamed for it to be more.

"Furia, please, I'm not only asking for me. Memo's struggling. Socorro has been getting in trouble in school, thankfully it is only some acting out and that one fight a few months back. But they need you. You were the one that held it all together for them."

Closing his eyes he leaned his forehead against hers. "You were the one that held it all together for me, too. I know I have no right to ask you to come back. And I know that even if you do, you'll probably hate me. I should have told you that morning when you confided in me and at least a dozen other times after that. But I wasn't strong enough. I was a coward. But I just need to know you're all right, that you'll be fine."

Cupping her face in his hands, Troy leaned over her, eyes closed imagining her the way she was: smoldering hazel eyes blinking brightly at him, that coy smirk she always gave him making his blood simmer. "Soledad," he whispered against her cool, dry lips. "I love you." It had taken three years of knowing for that admission to finally find voice. Troy pressed his mouth lightly to hers, and his heart ached. He wanted to believe she kissed him back, but when he opened his eyes and looked down at the pale sleeping beauty lying there, he knew she had not, could not.

The audible swallow seemed to echo along with the beeping and whirring of the machines around her. Troy pursed his lips tightly against the flood of emotion these visits always stirred up. When he finally cleared his throat and stood, he leaned back over her and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead.

"I'll see you soon," he promised, his voice cracking just a bit, before raising the rail and going to the door. His eyes remained on her for a long moment. Though he hated seeing her like this, so unlike the lively woman he fell in love with, he knew he needed to be here-for her and for himself. A quick peek out the door and he was back in the hall, then in the stairwell moments before an officer in a black uniform took up his post outside Furia's door again.

Troy, as he always did, made his way to another floor, any floor, then sat on the stairs holding his face in his hands. He did not know why he finally told her. Something just told him it was time she knew. The only thing he regretted about it, was that he could not be sure she heard it.


	6. Quelling Fury

**Summary: **A few months after waking up the Boss decides to take the chance of seeing the only other person she used to know before that fateful boat ride. Neither Troy, nor the Boss, know precisely what to expect from her surprise visit to the Detective's Bureau in the 31st Precinct.

**A/N: **Written for a SR Kink Meme prompt: **fem!boss/Troy **fem!boss (preferably latina) and troy have sex in his office sometime during/after the events of sr2... Oh and special whistles and cat calls to Chyrstis, who was the original filler on this post.

_Disclaimer_: Saint's Row belongs to THQ, Volition, and Deep Silver. I'm only playing with their universe. I do not own the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. I do it for the love of the game, the world, and the characters; and because they stuck with me long after I turned the game off (and back on, and off, ad infinitum).

* * *

**Quelled Fury**

**-1-**

* * *

The knocking was almost insistent, and it was followed by a voice laced with concern. "Sir! Chief Bradshaw, is everything all right?"

"It's fine Zelda."

"Okay. Are you certain? I can call someone."

"I said, I'm fine," he replied back sharply, "Miss … Martinez and I just need to find a little common ground to work from." He used the name on the badge clipped to her jacket so as not to further rouse his secretary's concern or suspicion. Troy stared into the familiar eyes of the woman he had never expected to see again, at least not this close.

Her hazel eyes were a maelstrom of anger and hurt mixed with enough desire to confuse him as much as his own feelings. Troy wanted this chance for the past three years, he had dreamed about how this revelation would play out, and six months earlier, when she woke up, this confrontation seemed not only viable, but highly plausible. Julius Little's former second slipping out of custody surprised everyone but the Chief of Police. What did surprise him was her standing in his office, her coming to confront him _here_, of all places. That he couldn't have imagined.

The woman most people only knew as Furia, had always been bold, it was one of the reasons for the very apt nickname some of the guys had given her early on. She was the embodiment of ferocity and her capacity for violence and destruction matched that of their old friend, and her second-in-command, Johnny Gat. But waltzing into the Detective Bureau with credentials from the DA's office was beyond even her typical tactics. It made him nervous and curious, set him on his guard and made his need to know why she had taken the risk nearly unbearable.

Chief Bradshaw leaned over her, hands, on either side of her head, pressing against the door's mahogany paneling. His gaze did not waver, despite the waffling going on in his head. His hands itched to touch her, just once more, though he honestly expected her to lay him out at any moment. Uncertain if it was inspired by bravery, stupidity, or some combination of the two, he took a chance. Something in him needed a response, even a violent decisive one.

Swallowing against the tightness in his throat, Troy trailed the backs of his fingers over her cheek. When her breath hitched, he cupped her face, his thumb grazing the little caramel scar on her cheekbone near her eye as he witnessed the anger in her eyes flicker and cool into something more familiar, something more perplexing.

Her eyes closed and she tilted her face into his hand. It was a movement so subtle and so striking that he responded instinctually. Closing the distance between them the tightness in his chest made it hard to breathe until he brushed his lips against hers. But when he felt her tense in response, Troy pulled away. The confusion in the look she gave him spoke volumes.

"I've missed you," he admitted.

A sudden constriction of relief washed over him with her response. The sharp sting along his spine, as his back hit the door, wasn't the only thing that knocked the air from his lungs. Furia held his face gently as she kissed him with an intensity he could barely recall.

Her body molded to his in familiar ways that made him dizzy. Tentatively he inched his arms around her, waiting for the dream to turn into one of his nightmares. When she allowed him to encircle her in his arms, he couldn't help but sigh as he squeezed her tightly. He broke the kiss and buried his face in her neck, inhaling the warm scent of her skin. The comfort of her arms wrapped as tightly around him as his were around her overwhelmed his senses.

_This_. Her in his arms was not in any of the scenarios he had considered for this encounter in the last six months. Though he had dreamed about just this sort of response enough in the past few years, he was never naïve enough to think it could actually play out this way. The Chief of Police was prepared for a violent confrontation, or a murderous one.

"Troy," she breathed lightly.

He sighed in response to hearing his name in her melodic trilling voice. The tone she used was the one she reserved for when they were alone-a little lower than her normal register and smooth as a ribbon of honey. The little purr of the R brought his lips to her neck before he lifted his head and looked down at her. They stared at each other a moment, struggling to read one another; it used to be so easy. In a glance he knew precisely what he wanted from this chance; but maybe that was the hitch, neither of them could be sure what they wanted from the other, what it was fair to want now that there was a bold blue line between them.

_Fuck the line. _

His embrace tightened around her and she fit easily against him again, just like she always had. The tailored suit jacket hit the floor quickly, before Troy set to work against the buttons of the white silk blouse. The quiver in her breathing suggested she was as caught up as he was, but she gripped his shoulders tightly and pressed her forehead against his chest.

"Despacio, Troy," she muttered, trying to calm herself. When she looked up at him finally, the control she tried to exert over herself was visible and pained him. "We made this mistake once already," she muttered, barely convincing herself, let alone him.

The admission suggested she was equally unprepared for the reality of what was unfolding in his office. His eyes searched hers as he considered what she said. Getting involved with her had been a risk. One friend of his even ventured to call it stupid, though Bradshaw had never seen it that way. And he didn't agree with Furia's assessment either.

"I never saw our relationship as a mistake."

Furia tilted her head at him. He could tell he was challenging her assumptions, making this harder for her, making it harder for her to just walk away. Even though he knew it would be easier for both of them, he didn't want that-not if there could be another option.

"You're a cop," she accused. Her eyes moved to her hands, which still rested on his chest. "And I'm … me," she said with a smirk and a little shrug, as she took a step back.

Troy rubbed his hands along her back, trying to pull her back toward him, then clasped his hands around her waist. "It doesn't matter. Never did."

"How can you say that?"

He did not stop her as she slipped out of his grip. She walked back across the room, tugging at her shirt modestly as she crossed her arms over her chest. Troy leaned against the door and when she stopped, he slipped his hand behind him and slid the bolt she had locked when she entered. This was not a conversation he wanted interrupted, not if she was willing to have it.

"Two years is a long time to weigh one's options and priorities," he admitted.

Slow and measured steps carried him toward her. Furia didn't look at him; Troy didn't mind. For him it had always been easier to say these types of things when she was unconscious. He hoped it would be just as easy with her back turned on him.

"I visited you."

No response.

"Not as often as I should have, but as much as I could manage. I always made sure to bring Gerbera Daisies," he mused with a wistful little grin cast down at his hands. "I remembered you saying they were your favorites. Every time, I begged you to wake up, even if it was just to kick my ass for not telling you everything."

Furia glanced at him over her shoulder. He could see it: hurt, confusion, pain, tenderness. He shook his head thinking the last one surely had to be his imagination or wishful thinking.

"I never lied to you about anything. I just couldn't tell you everything," he said in an attempt to explain. "I tried to tell you once, just before-" He took a step forward and she took a step back in response. Balling up the hand he had reached toward her with, he tucked it in his pocket. "I had convinced you to let me take you out to that place downtown. We'd been there for what thirty minutes before Johnny called, then Dex, and it just all went to hell."

"I remember," Furia muttered.

Troy slipped into the chair a few steps from her and looked up at her. "I had it all planned. I even had a speech."

The laugh was light and the smile lit her eyes. "You wrote a speech to tell me you were a cop?"

He ran his hands through his much shorter hair. "Kind of. But it wasn't just to tell you about that," he stated.

She squeezed herself, trying to offer herself the comfort Troy wanted to provide her with.

"Do you want to hear it?"

"No." Her answer was short and clipped as she turned away.

He pulled his billfold out of his pocket and dug out the napkin he carried with him since the night he wrote it. He laughed when he unfolded it, two sets of handwriting, words and whole lines scratched out and written over-Johnny had helped him craft part of it, the part that mattered the most. The cop part, Troy had planned to tack on and beg her to overlook.

"I always sucked at this," he told the worn, but somehow still intact, napkin in his hands.

"You wrote it down on a napkin from Tee-N-Ay?"

He laughed lightly and looked up at her. "I had an epiphany halfway through a bottle of tequila. You work with what you've got handy. Hell, Johnny and I went through a stack of napkins. I think we pissed that bartender off. I'm still surprised they didn't throw us out."

"You and Johnny?"

"He didn't always want my head on a platter," Troy reminded her. The two of them used to be pretty close, in part because of her.

Her fingertips grazed his forehead lightly and he looked up at her as her caress moved along his jaw. "Why are you fighting the inevitable?"

Troy stood, letting one hand rest on her waist as he held her gaze. "I've spent two years hoping for a miracle. Why not try my luck and hold out for another one?"

"This can't work. You're the Chief of Police. And I'm … me. I'm not going to sit back. The Saints never left, they just went on vacation. And we're taking Stilwater back."

He looked at her for a long time. "I don't care. Work is work. You and your boys do what you have to. Me and mine will do what we have to. But I don't fucking care about any of that right now. I want a chance. I just want you."

Furia grazed his neck lightly with her fingers, letting them play at the hollow in his throat, accessible at his unbuttoned collar. "Just me, huh?"

"I'm not promising you anything beyond us. No police support. No looking the other way."

She smiled at the challenge. "No get out of jail free card?"

"Nope," the Chief agreed with a determined little shake of his head.

"Just you?"

"That's all I can offer," he conceded.

Her fingers toyed with the knot of his tie. It was a cheap uniform tie, but she was carefully maneuvering it as she considered what was on the table. His entire body ached from the tension that rose by the second.

"I can't offer anything more than that either," she pointed out with a quick professional glance up from his loosened tie.

"I'm not looking for anything else."

"No one can know," Furia added, pulling the tie out of his collar.

"Like anyone would believe me if I told them," Troy quipped, pulling her a little closer.

The boss leaned away from him, hazel eyes searching his. "You're sure?"

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," he volunteered, crushing her lips to his own.

Her hands slipped around his neck and held on tightly as they kissed. His hands moved quickly, peeling away her blouse to plant kisses down her neck and over her shoulder. Fumbling at her waist, the chief blindly searched for the zipper, dragging it down then pushing away the sheath of fabric. He pressed her hips against the desk, kissing and kneading her breasts when the intercom chirped. They both froze like they'd been caught in the act.

"Sir, the commissioner is on line three. He says it's urgent," the grating voice announced.

"Sonuvabitch," Troy muttered. He quickly set his finger over Furia's lips when she started to say something. "I have to take this," he whispered in her ear.

**-2-**

* * *

Chief Bradshaw rounded the desk so quickly he never even noticed her smirk. She knew she had to be out of her mind, but there had always been something about Troy that she just couldn't resist. She had not been able to put a finger on it before, and looking around his office that just screamed COP! the boss still couldn't pinpoint a reason to take this kind of risk. Other than that he was precisely what she wanted.

Glancing over her shoulder she eyed him. That purposeful gleam crept back into his eyes, despite the fact that her tongue had just been in his mouth. He had always been able to shift gears rather quickly.

"Not a word," he urged as he reached for the phone and stabbed at the blinking light.

She had no intention of _saying_ anything. But Furia did have another idea, and she knew he wouldn't be able to argue… much with his superior on the line.

"Afternoon, sir," Troy greeted as she rounded the desk and pressed him into his chair. He looked at her and shook his head with a discouraging sternness in his eyes.

The answering grin and the playful raise of her eyebrows made his brow crease as she slipped up onto the edge of the desk, perching herself on his blotter. She bit her lip and pulled the clip out of her hair, letting the ebony waves cascade over her shoulders. Then she kicked off her heels and set her feet on his knees. His eyes flicked downward and were glued to the movement of her hands along her thighs though he nodded at the man on the other end of the phone.

The movement of his Adam's apple curled her lips a little more devilishly.

"I'm aware of how Michelson's actions are being portrayed in the press but they have no bearing on the case," Troy replied to an accusation she could care less about.

His voice cracked on the last word as her foot stroked him through the polyester slacks. She grinned when he grabbed her ankle and glared at her. She pointed her toes in a defiant effort to tease him again, but he kept her out of reach.

"Yes, he's on a desk. IA is still conducting their investigation."

When he loosed her foot, she let them dangle from the desk as she watched the chief as he ran his hand over his forehead. She could hear the commissioner's voice through the phone and the man didn't sound pleased. Judging from Troy's reaction this was not going to be a short call. A little silent hop off the desk and she curled herself up in his lap. Troy's fingers glided along her back as Furia stroked his jaw and neck lightly before she turned her attention to the buttons of his shirt.

Sucking at his earlobe lightly she decided to up the ante. He had always been a sucker for her voice, or at least that's what he said. One way she had always managed to get his goad was by whispering in his ear in Spanish, even though he barely understood a word of it. Once she had almost made him come with a grocery list. But she decided that this time, she would make it a little more fun.

He leaned away from her slightly as she ran the tip of her tongue along the shell of his ear. "Te he echado mucho," she whispered languidly. She felt his jaw clinch under her lips as she planted a soft little kiss there.

"Todo sobre ti me enciende. Te necessito."

She smiled when he dragged his nails lightly down her shoulder. _If he knew what I was saying he'd have hung up the phone by now, Commissioner be damned,_ she thought as she nuzzled his ear. "Tocame, Troy." She drew out his name, drawing out the roll in her Rs, which brought his eyes to hers. "Quiero hacerte el amor."

"I'm aware that the depositions begin next week," he noted through clinched teeth.

"Quiero que me hagas gritar su nombre," she admitted truthfully, as she glided off his lap. Unabashedly, she planted quiet little kisses over the field of his cotton undershirt, pausing just once to bite his nipple.

Troy grabbed the back of her neck quickly. His eyes were a mix of passion and frustration that turned her on. Holding the phone at arm's length, he pulled her mouth to his and kissed her hard.

"Behave," he grunted lowly.

"Never," Furia murmured with a tilt of her head.

They both heard the commissioner yell, "Bradshaw!" through the phone. She grinned and winked at him as he reluctantly put the receiver back to his ear.

"Yes, sir. I'm still here," the chief lied as he sat back again. "Yes. I'm aware of how this makes the department look. But we can't rush this type of thing."

He swatted at her hands once he heard the jingle of his undone belt buckle. "No," he mouthed at her.

She just beamed at him. And he mouthed her name with a sharp glare, which she responded to defiantly by dropping his zipper. Trying to escape, Troy pushed his chair back and it banged against the credenza behind the desk.

"It's nothing, sir. Sorry. Yes, I think the DA's right on this one. We really need to get a proper investigation of the matter before we start making any statements to the press."

He batted at her hands trying to keep her from her prize, but she was quicker than he was. Apparently two years in a coma had done less to dull her reflexes, than his two years behind a desk had his.

"They might be amenable to a plea bargain. But I think-"

Troy's whole body froze when she placed a sweet little kiss on the head of his cock. Then came the slow teasing stroke of her tongue up the length of the shaft before she lowered her head, the second stroke was when things seemed to restart for him.

"I think … as does the DA's office, that any deal … any deal we make is going to require the severing of Michelson … and probably Briggs as well."

Furia could not help but grin at the fact that he was unable look at her. Troy had his head pressed against the chair with his free hand resting over his eyes as he tried to keep some semblance of composure. She moved down and up again, pressing her tongue hard against him with each stroke. Alternating this with teasing swirls and licks, she tried to distract him from the inanity of the phone call. When his free hand slipped into her hair, she looked up at him and his eyes met hers pleading for a little mercy.

Mercy had never really been her forte, but the look almost worked on her. Furia considered the option and opted to ease up. _It had been two years, and he might be out of practice_, she thought as she skimmed the head just barely with her teeth. He hissed quietly through his tight jaw and managed to play it off.

"Tsss. I'm not sure Michelson will agree to a resignation," he said, trying his damnedest not to breathe too heavily. He fisted his hand in her hair and held her tightly to gain a moment of reprieve.

"I give," she replied, holding up her hands in mock surrender.

His eyes suggested he didn't believe her, but he released her anyway certain there was little payback he could render with the commissioner on the phone.

The boss decided to play a little bit nice, standing in a quick smooth motion and taking a few steps back, she wiggled her hips at him. She wanted the phone call to be over, and she knew one surefire way to make it happen.

As if Troy had sensed her thoughts, he stood and his hand joined hers on her hips, encouraging the motion. It surprised her, but not as much as when the chief dragged his fingers across his tongue as he gave her a determined smirk, but she grabbed his wrist before he could set about his task.

Furia only paused his attempt at pay back only long enough to tantalize. Holding his hand she kissed the heel of his palm then continued a slow path toward his fingertips. Her tongue teased at the tip of his middle finger, then sucked at it lightly. He was all but panting when she let him slip another finger into his mouth. Content that she had turned his intended retaliation quite far enough against him, she released his wrist.

His gaze was lusty and dark, it gnawed at her in a pleasurable way that intensified when his hand slithered between her thighs. Delicate little strokes teased at her excited flesh as he summarized the various witness statements against the detective they had been discussing. His eyes never left hers as he touched her with just the right amount of pressure to make her wanton, but not hot enough to get too vocal, yet.

There was something palpable in his presence; she was drawn into his gaze by that strong force that seemed to swirl about him. She had always felt drawn toward Troy Bradshaw. When he leaned her against the desk, awkwardly cradling the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, he undid her bra, causing her to shiver against him. This garnered another little grin and she rubbed her hips against him in response. Troy pressed against her in response, rather than pushing her away. His erection blazed hot against her flesh as he kept her close.

One hand went back to the phone, while she held onto his waist and leaned against his chest, savoring the closeness and his touch. She had missed him, all of him-the heat, the gentleness, the hungry way he looked at her, the comforting caresses, the sex. _That_ they had always good at, she recalled as she tried to keep herself quiet.

"No, we're not expecting retaliation. If it was going to happen, it would have started already, though it is likely that we'll have some civil unrest," Troy predicted as his finger circled her again.

**-3-**

* * *

Furia was exactly as he remembered. The number of phone conversations he had been forced to have with her mouth around his cock prepared him to deal with that little distraction, mostly. Even with experience, it was still hard as hell to control himself, which he knew was the entire point. She loved to fluster him. Though she had put in a little extra effort this time, and still was. Every time she rolled her hips against him as he teased her it was all he could do to not groan in the commissioner's ear.

"Zelda's got everything compiled already. Including the statements the DA sent over. I'll have her messenger it to your house before the weekend so you can have a head's up for your deposition Monday, sir."

Her body shuddered as he slipped a finger into her. The choked little whimper made him grin like a Cheshire cat, as he continued to stroke her. Troy really only lamented the fact that the damn phone kept him limited to one hand.

"Not a problem at all, sir. I'll let her know. And you'll have it before Monday. Have a good weekend. Bye."

He slammed the phone on the hook. "Goddamn that man can ramble." Then Troy leaned against her more fully, pressing himself against her distracting little wiggle. He kissed her ferociously as he leaned her against the edge of the desk, his hand still teasing at the apex of her thighs. "And you," he growled, looking down at her scoldingly.

"Don't worry. I doubt he'd fire you for getting a little head while on the phone." She shrugged one bare shoulder at him and Troy leaned forward and bit it, making her giggle. "Así … he'd probably give you a commendation."

The breathy sigh made him smile against her collarbone as he kissed and nipped at her skin.

"íAjá! I could see that now," Furia teased.

The chief directed some of his attention to her breasts, which brought her hands encouragingly to his head as she exhaled raggedly.

"Little blue ribbon. Medallion cast in bronze with perfectly O-shaped lips." Her suggestion disappeared into a deep hissing inhalation of breath as he slid a second finger into her. Gripping the edge of the desk, she leaned more heavily on that hand to steady herself.

"You're not the only one with a good memory," he drawled against her lips as he kissed her.

She was breathless, when the kiss broke. "Sí. But are you still a boy scout?"

Her voice dripped with longing; Troy felt it to-that building powerful need. He didn't know if he had a condom, but he thought there might be one, somewhere. _God, let there be one in this damn desk_, he thought as he yanked open the first drawer. The craze made his head spin as he tugged open one drawer then another. By the time he shooed her over a step to get the middle drawer she was helping him.

"Oye, guapo. Do I even want to know why this is in your desk drawer?" she trilled, shaking the foil wrapper at him.

"Isn't it obvious?" Troy pulled her to him again and dragged her thong down her legs.

That lascivious smirk made him ache. She held the package in her teeth, as she helped him haul off his shirts. Then she leaned against his desk, her hands slithered between them. He groaned against her touch, gentle and firm strokes before sheathed him. He wrapped and arm around her waist and planted her on the desk as she guided him into her.

He tugged her hips toward him as she wrapped her legs around his waist. The driving rhythm he set was demanding from them both. Memory didn't fail him either-her sharp little breaths and her nails digging into his shoulder told him she was right there with him. He knew the signs: the flutter of her eyelids, the claiming kisses, but when she pressed her forehead to his with her hands laced behind his neck, he knew she was at the edge. The long sharp strokes that pushed her past the precipice, took him with her; their bodies moving in tandem as they restaked a lost claim.

Nothing else mattered in that moment. Not purple. Not blue. She was in his arms, and her arms were around him. Troy Bradshaw had spent two years hoping to find a way back to that place. His mouth met hers passionately as cradled her against him. He was damn sure going to hold onto her as long as he could.


End file.
